


Insatiable

by Aris



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Asgard is a cruel place, Body Image, Eating Disorders, Hell loads of self pity, Jane is Asgard royalty, Loki Angst, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki loves his kids, Mentions of past mpreg, Multi, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris/pseuds/Aris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was, Loki speculated, rather sickening how fat he'd gotten. How useless he'd become.</p><p>Written for a prompt on Norsekink - prompt will be linked when it is up to date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd work, probably lots of spelling mistakes/accidental word replacements

Loki smiles.

Jane doesn’t quite manage a smile back and Thor is too busy beaming in the general vicinity of, well, _everyone but Loki,_ to notice his younger brother. His smile fades quickly as Jane looks away. He can only hope no one else is looking his way, though he supposes there are a few people who would think to. Being the unfavoured prince had its perks at times.

The new royal couple are seated at the head table, all gold and jewels and glowing skin. Jane looks unbearably happy - her light hair is wrapped elaborately above her head and Loki is sure Frigga had adorned her in some of that Midgardian paint they use on the women down there. It serves to make her look nothing short of stunning, a beautiful woman and a fitting wife to Thor, God of thunder.

Loki kind of feels like a knife’s been twisted in his stomach.

He is seated on a table just down from the head, long since resigned to his place as a disgrace to the royal family. By all means he could be sat upon that shining table, laughing and smiling next to Thor and carefully avoiding Odin’s searching eyes, but he knows better now. Odin and Frigga would never ask him to leave the table, as they were far too proper as of late, but Loki knew when he was unwanted - his whole life seemed to be a series of people trying to avoid his company and, as demeaning as it could have been to descend to a lesser table, it hurt much less than a faux happiness he would have to play up at his brother’s side.

God of Lies he may be, but immune to hurt he was not.

Seated next to him were a few royals from Alfheim, Light Elves. They were more suited to his company, quiet and thoughtful and devout practitioners of magic, and he was usually content to converse with them of newer spells and recent artifacts of an older time that had been found among the ruins of cities that had been lost to war. Today, however, he found his silver tongue was tied and he could do little but watch the golden couple and their soft, adoring smiles they shot at each other at sickeningly regular intervals.

“Loki?” He turned at the sound his name uttered in a velvet tone and was met with the startling pale of the Elf sitting next to him. She smiled. “Are you not to partake in this feast?” Loki glanced down at his plate, a golden circle empty of any foods. The meats and fruits piled in front of him, spilling forth from their generous containers, had little appeal to him in his current state. He felt vaguely sick, in fact, as he watched stacked meat gleam in the subtle lighting of the great hall.

“Ah, no, my kind Lady. It seems I had business that sorely requires my attention which I had forgotten in light of recent celebrations. Please, excuse me.”

He slipped as quietly as he could from the hall, ignoring the boisterous laughter of his brother behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Prince Loki, The Queen has asked your attendance in her rooms for breakfast. She asks that you arrive soon." The servant boy bows quickly and scurries away from Loki's door, head ducked down low. Loki shut the door with a low 'thump' and settled himself upon a window seat overlooking the Palace grounds. 

He had no doubt in his mind that Frigga was to question him on his early disappearance last night, as it was customary for all members of the royal family to be present for the large portion of the night, especially at an event as joyous as a wedding. It would have been seen as unforgivably rude for Loki to leave when he did, but Loki doubted anyone had noticed his departure till well after he had left. Surely a guard, or servant, had informed Frigga afterwards. He was paid little heed by his adoptive family.

He sighed lightly to himself, resting his forehead on the dark bracketing of the wall opening and cast his gaze across the slim view of the training grounds and stables. He was no doubt to be scorned for his lack of manners, Frigga being likely to 'forget' all the times Thor himself had neglected to even appear at a particular feast, and some kind of punishment would entail if Odin had any hand in it.

Even a prince such as he, looked down upon and clinging to the last fibres of royalty, was held to royal standards in boring affairs. If he was said to enjoy feasts and celebrations Odin would perhaps forbid him from them, the way Odin had not-so-subtly forbidden any of Loki's previous lovers to enter his chambers. Loki took pleasure in sex, and found delight in raising his children - bathing in their unconditional love and adoration for their birth mother. Odin banned him on the grounds of him being the horrifying Mother of Monsters, and the realm being unable to deal with the mutiny caused by another beast let to cause havoc and destruction.

All Loki's children caused harm in the end, even if they did not mean to, and Asgard was not a forgiving place for his beloved children. Jormungand slithered through the seas of Earth, alone and unable to return, Fenrir lay bound far from the palace - a sword in his mouth and chains pressing down at his sides; Hel ruled over a dead realm (Loki hoped she was happy there, at least, as she had been far from it in Asgard) and Sleipnir was treated as a mere horse to the king, a fast horse, yes, but a horse nonetheless. Loki knew his son had intellect to match any of Asgard and it pained him to see him brought to the same level as all other beasts. The fates of all his children brought him more than a few regrets, and as a result he did not try and twist his way round Odin's heavy handed ban. He did not dare to bring another child into this world, not while he could not care for them.

He wondered, if he had been able, if he had been worthy, that the children he had once hoped to have with Thor would have been monsters too. 

It was not a thought he entertained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double updates till I'm on the same page as norsekink! Sorry for small chapters


	3. Chapter 3

"It was a most celebrated event for you brother, Loki - he is to be king soon, it cannot be seen that his brother does not support him." Frigga's voice is hard but her eyes are soft, a guise Loki is much accustomed to. It is important to her that she comes across as both kind but firm to both her sons, and no one was to blame her if she was a little more 'firm' on the magic-wielding prince who still played pranks like a small child. Loki had long since seen through her act, and the gentleness of her eyes was a thin veil for the heavy distrust she harboured.

He was not her son, after all. A Jötun intruder brought forth by her husband. She had faked her love for many, many years. It might have even been true at one point. If one smiles for long enough, one truly believes they are happy.

"Of course, mother. I merely felt ill and it would be far more unbecoming for a man in a position such as I to be taken from the hall in such a state. I seeked to minimise your humiliation, not sow doubts in the minds of the court." Mother. She hated it when he called her that, and he could barely suppress the mocking smile that rose to his lips at Frigga's twist of distaste. He was amused that for the longest time she had been thought to be his real mother, thought to have birthed him - this disgrace. The relief she must have felt at the public revealing of his origins was still palatable now. 

"It would have done you good to say this earlier, Loki." No return of mother-son barbs today, it seemed "You will apologise to your brother and his wife, Loki, as you have brought them great unease." Loki bowed his head elaborately at the command, an action more common among servants and their masters, and swept from the room before Frigga could call him out on his disrespectful actions. His plate had not been touched.

  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++  


Thor was to be found on the training fields among his friends, battling fiercely while Lady Jane delicately sat upon a nearby wall, a maid by her side braiding her hair as she watched. It was ill mannered for Thor to have done nothing more to amuse his new wife and Loki deftly suppressed the spike of hope that rose with the indication. Thor was happy with his wife, that much was clear, and he was simply dim-witted to have invited his lady to watch his sparring. Lady Jane also appeared to enjoy watching her husband (the word filled Loki with a strange emptiness) spar with his companions, certainly more-so than Loki had been when Thor, all good-natured and puppy eyed, had dragged him from his books to fight. The place at Thor's side was now that of Lady Jane's, not the golden-prince's runt brother.

Quite.

With a purposefully unsettling smile, Loki sat next to Jane - mentally stripping her of her title for his own childish joy - and waited for her attentions to focus solely on him. Once they had, Loki took her hand in his, resisting the urge to crush the woman who had taken his brother from him, and kissed her hand as courtesy. He placed her hand carefully back on the wall, his fingers quickly digging into his palms to subside the crawling feeling of wrong that thus assaulted his skin at her touch.

"My long suffering mother has brought it my attention how rude my early departure last night would seem to one unaware of the circumstances. I took myself ill, my lady, and I apologise greatly for any upset it would have caused. I wished to spare you of the embarrassment of me being taken from the hall in a less than royal state - I dare not detract from your glorious day with the shortcomings of my health." A fallen prince he may be, but Loki's silver-tongue was well and truly still in tact and he took much pleasure in using it to render those who distrusted him without reason to do so. 

 

"Are you quite well now, Loki?" No title, how petty. Jane had always had such a strong backbone of dislike for him, despite Loki being nothing short of charming with each interaction. Perhaps she had seen the way Loki had drawn too close to Thor, how he flourished in his brother undivided love and attention. Had she been jealous? Had it made her skin crawl to imagine the two princes together - coupling? The thought made Loki feel immeasurably satisfied, though the feeling was quickly crushed by the reminder Jane had won in the end. Stolen his brothers attention away like all the men she had encountered in court. Loki wanted nothing more than to destroy her beauty, erase her cheery personality; he wanted her gone, dead - of no distraction to his brother.

He laughed lightly.

"Of course, of course. No illness could keep one of my heritage down for long. Remarkably robust, frost giants are." Her flinch was barely disguised and Loki schooled his features to a careful calm, devoid of the inner flickerings of amusements. The great Asgards, so scared of a nearly extinct race of giants; he had their bedtime tales to thank for that, the horrifying imagery of child-eating beasts with skin as blue as the sky and eyes as red as the blood you bled haunted the most robust warrior. Few ventured into Jötunheim, shadowed in a childish fear of the monsters that dwelled there.

"Brother!"


	4. Chapter 4

Thor's bellow interrupted Jane's parted mouth and Loki was almost glad of it - he had never given Jane a real reason to dislike him, and that comment had been a potential weapon as it's aim was far from subtle. He had meant to make her uncomfortable, and in turn this could nurture her dislike further, perhaps even turning Thor against him.

He could not lose Thor.

The golden prince forfeited courtesy and swept Loki up in his arms, drawing him close. It was one of the things about Thor that was so painfully endearing; the ease in which his love came, the warmness in which he greeted and talked and the animation in which he listened to the most boring of tales. He was practically devoted to being the most likeable prince there ever was, and Loki presented little competition so such a cause. 

Loki wanted to close his eyes against his brothers chest but resisted doing so, instead savouring his proximity and the feeling of strong arms around him. Thor smelt of sweat and stale mead, a not unfamiliar thing. Drink had much been to Thor's liking, to Loki's vast distaste - mead was just another thing that threw a spear between their bond. Loki was loathe to drink, preferring to keep his wits about him, as one does when surrounded by potential enemies, while Thor was prone to drinking to unconsciousness and doing it with as much fuss as possible. 

"What brings you here, brother! Why, I have not seen you out in this yard since Sleipnir insisted you come and watch his charge!" Thor let go of his younger brother and grinned down at him, oblivious to the distaste the warriors three didn't even attempt to hide towards Loki behind the would-be kings back. Loki smiled delicately.

"I have come to excuse my behaviour from last night. I'm sure it did not escape your notice I left earlier than proper - this was due to a slight ailment of mine. I hope I did not distract the celebrations." He had not, he knew, had any such effect on the celebrations and, judging by the flicker of guilt temporarily marring Thor's features, his presence, or lack of it thereof, had not been noticed. It was a bitter victory to Loki that he had been right in thinking he had been so heavily replaced in Thor's mind that his brother, once a doting, almost suffocating presence, had not even noticed Loki's absence at his wedding feast. Loki was quickly becoming forgotten by all those who were once precious to him.

He had hope that his children still remembered him. If they did, he did not suppose it would be in good light. A mother too weak to protect their children was no mother at all. 

"Ah, dear brother, it was a wondrous night! It is a near shame you were not there throughout! I am sure you would enjoyed yourself," A lie if Loki had ever heard one, "Are you faring better now, brother?"

Why must he constantly assault Loki with the reminder of their false brotherhood? Loki was no more his brother than he was Frigga's son, and the bond made Loki's mind a dreadfully incestous place. It could be seen as a relief that they were not related, as Loki's feelings has quickly blossomed into self-hatred under the belief Thor was his real brother. Though; Thor had been more likely to return his affections when Loki was his brother, than how Loki is a now. A monster. Jötun.

"As I was just saying to Lady Jane, I am now quite well, Prince Thor. A nights rest has done me good." He did not mention his Jotun blood, and readily ignored Janes shooted look of offense. Thor did not need to know of the tension between himself and Jane, and he remained oblivious enough to it that bringing it to his attention would reap little benefits. He only hoped Jane would think the same.

"That is glorious news! Will you be joining us to spar, brother?" there's a glint of hope in Thor's eyes but Loki can't bring himself to face the defiant looks of the warriors three and the thought of their aggression during a 'friendly' duel was far from appealing. 

"I'm afraid not, Thor. I have much business to attend to. Do please excuse me." He bowed slightly to Jane and smiled warily at his brother before taking leave of the grounds.

His stomach ached terribly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the feedback so far! I was apprehensive about cross-posting 'cause I haven't seen that many ED fics in the fandom and wasnt sure if there was a place for them - delighted to find out otherwise ^-^


	5. Chapter 5

His head aches and he rests his head in his palms. It had been with him since midday, starting as a small fuzziness and evolving into sharp pains, broken only by minutes of dull, familiar throbbing. His upset stomach yesterday only seemed like so much pain compared to the twisting, clenching wreck it was now - it demanded food, but Loki knew if he attended to it now it would only reject substance. He was no stranger to hunger, and as a consequence knew it well.

When he was younger he spent days and nights in his chambers, or alternatively the library, studying sorcery with reverence. There had been little time to eat or bathe, such was his fever to learn. The pain had been lesser then, his body wanted less of him, needed less maintenance; his form had been smaller. He has grown taller in time but...

In one fluid movement Loki was up from his desk and in front of the elaborately decorated floor-to-ceiling mirror which occupied a large proportion of one wall. It's golden edges and floral decoration were relics, like himself, of a time where his chambers had been adorned with more gold than sense. When he was a true prince of Asgard, not a monster of Jötunheim. He did not miss it much, the black and green theme was more appealing and served as a lesser distraction than gold - he found the flames would always reflect in the colour, drawing him away from his books.

He stared into the mirror.

Loki had always been lithe, smaller than the other Asgardians (he knew why, now) and muscle refused to form. However, in recent times he was significantly less active than he had been - Thor's questing had been cut-down by Jane's presence - and Loki now enjoyed three meals a day and barely any movement in between. The foods available were rich and meant for warriors who battled fiercely when they could and required the energy to build muscle and wield weapons, not for lone sorcerers who scarcely left the castle.

He blinked slowly, comprehending his appearance entirely. He had put on weight; his legs curved carefully inwards with the swell of his thighs and, if he turned to the side, his stomach now appeared prominent - no longer the straight line up and down it once had been. It appeared he and Volstagg now shared a common interest.

Perhaps this would explain Thor's quick rejection of Loki? It was mere weeks after he had met Jane that Thor began to favour her over him, maybe he had seen Loki's weight gain and no longer considered him a suitable companion. He was not strong nor mighty like Volstagg, and his presence was not particularly wondrous as he was more introverted than most. His leanness had helped him escape many difficult situations, and now that he was heavier it was easier to assume he was less agile on his feet, slowed by fat. 

Useless to a warrior.


	6. Chapter 6

Being immortal comes with certain perks, say, being able to waste time efficiently. Loki once spent forty years in the forests near Asgard, making himself a quiet living among the inhabitants of the wood in various forms- only returning to Asgard when a great horse had forced itself upon him. In his panic, Loki had been unable to maintain the concentration to shift to his correct form, and by the time he had the deed was done and the seeds sown. Sleipnir was born in the castle, and swept from Loki's hold in mere months. 

He missed his son dearly, but was too afraid of how Sleipnir might feel towards him now; knowing his mother had willingly given him to the service of the king, to be treated as any other horse. Loki doubted he would be forgiving. Loki didn't deserve the love of his children, with the situations they were in. He was a poor mother, and likely a poor person. He had very little to give.

Exhaling sharply, Loki rubbed his hands across his forehead, glaring down at the open book in front of him. His stomach had long since settled but the headache raged on still, stealing his attention away from any such spells, effectively leaving him staring at page after page of books, hardly taking in anything. Loki knew a lot of the information anyway, having little else to occupy him in his youth, but it never hurt to touch up on the basics. Or try too.

There was a feast tonight, in the name of some court member's child coming of age - anything seemed like a reason to celebrate, though Loki's own 'coming of age' had been distastefully ignored - and Loki had been exactly told he was to be present. The thought of all that food and all those people did not sit well with Loki. Due to his recent discovery, he had decided it was favourable to skip a few meals. It only made sense, now he was inactive he did not require the energy, and he had become dreadfully self conscious to the looks others gave him - no doubt they had noticed his weight gain. He wondered what snide things they whispered to each other about the inflating prince, the runt of the litter finally fattening up. 

Loki remembered torturously well the many taunts he had placed to Volstagg about his weight and his lumbering, slow form. A vague sense of guilt came with them, now that he understood how it was to be big bigger, plumper, it did not seem so funny. He felt almost comradeship with Volstagg, as if their ballooning bodies could be a point in which to meet. Loki sorely doubted Volstagg wanted anything to do with him and his silver tongue, and Loki was uncertain the 'bond' he felt with Volstagg was nothing more than his distress at his weight gain manifesting in strange ways.

Pulling his head up from his hands, Loki stood and looked over his room, lips twisting uncertainly. Tonight he would refrain from eating too much - definitely no meats - and would eat as a maiden would. If he drank enough, hopefully an easy enough task on a empty stomach, he would not need to think on what the court thought of his newly(?) acquired fat. Mead worked to Thor's advantage, and Loki only hoped it would work to his.


	7. Chapter 7

The family that was being celebrated was apparently not important enough for the royal family's main table, and thus were scattered among the surrounding tables - subsequently displacing Loki from his usual company and forcing him onto a chair among The Warriors Three and a displeased looking Sif. Loki was also far from content with this new arrangement, it was a habit of his to avoid Thor's friends whenever possible, being all too familiar with their constant jokes about him and he now basked in the new found fear one would dare bring up his weight gain.

Surely the only reason it had yet to be mentioned was his eagerness to be secluded of late in a bid to avoid Jane's painfully soft, patronizing smile and Thor's no doubt torturously happy face; warriors were prone to avoid library's, not to even mention Loki's chambers, and without the trickster in their line of fire no blows could be delivered.

Loki turned his attention back to the warriors surrounding him, grimacing at the sight of platters upon platters of food, all suspiciously gathering near Volstagg. Loki immediately checked around him, praying that he did not project the image of greed that Volstagg so easily mustered - greasy fingers ready to feast and large stomach overflowing onto the table. He pressed a hand to his abdomen self-consciously, almost cringing as the soft flesh gave way beneath his hand. Fat. How utterly repulsing.

He stared down at his plate, watching the thick gravy that garnished the vegetables presented slip down the greens, falling into gloopy, dark puddles about their leaves. He glanced casually towards Sig's plate - noting hers was decorated with lean meats and gravy-free vegetables, though there was quite a lot. Less than Volstagg and Fandral. Though; Sif was not the typical Asgardian maiden, no, she fought with the men and for all intents and purposes should eat like one. Loki mentally halved her serving and then looked towards his, finding his was over a half of hers. He found himself repulsed by his greed, and his overlooking of the obvious... _indulgence_ that was gravy.

He picked at his food, unwilling to commit himself to that which could be even a quarter of what a worthy warrior would consume. He only read books, anyway, only played silly tricks that were of no use and spent all his time with himself. He required little energy to be useless.

If anyone noticed his lack of apparent appetite (though his stomach twisted and turned under the arm he had wrapped around himself), they did not comment upon in. No doubt, they all most amused that such a large man such as he had chosen a smaller ration than usual, and were waiting for the appropriate moment to launch a verbal attack.

_"Little runt finally putting on some pounds? Such a shame it isn't muscle."_

_"Looks like Volstagg's got some competition!"_

_"Oh, Loki, your leather's are getting awfully tight."_

He clenched his hand deeper into his fatty flesh, feeling the revolting give beneath his daggered hand. It ached in a very different way to that of his hunger, but helped to distract his mind from the feast before him -it was simply a matter of self control, something which Loki prided himself on. He would not gorge himself like a pig, submit himself to his bodily desires. He could rise above it, he was sure. He did not need to eat as much as these warriors, he was not a slave to body as his talents lay in the corridors of the mind. And mind always conquered matter.

Loki reached for his goblet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super!long chapter next look out


	8. Chapter 8

His hand's felt wonderfully warm and flushed, tingling with a strange heat as Loki experimentally pushed them against the edge of the wooden table. The feeling intensified, then dulled down to the steady cold of the surface below, it was oddly fascinating to experiance and Loki felt like one of the small children that lingered by the stables - hoping in vain to catch a sight of the great horse Sleipnir and, if they were lucky, her sole rider, The All-Father. 

He wondered when his children had become a form of entertainment.

At the thought of children he tugged his eyes from his pressing hands and towards the Golden Prince, brother dear. Thor sat alongside Jane a mere few seats away, making merry with a deep-red Volstagg (who was _still_ eating) and a smiling Fandral. Hogan had long since left and Sif remained silent at Loki's side, and he couldn't seem to retain the concentration required to wander on at her presence - not while Thor and his endless blue eyes and flawlessly blonde hair sat metres from him, an aching smile adorning his sinful features.

Loki remembers when that smile was shared with him, too.

Pathetic, really, that someone of his intellect should be reduced to such painful, unrequited love. Yet he could not bring himself to look away as his not-brother raised his goblet to his lips, tongue darting out to catch falling droplets of mead that risked touching upon his chin. Loki shivered audibly and forced his gaze back down to his now-clasped hands, staring resolutely at the pale appendages. It was impossible to express how bitter he felt at the ease in which his brother had forgotten him, how easily replaced Loki had turned out to be. When he was younger, Thor had always promised they wouldn't be separated, that even if he were to be king, Loki would be at his side as his closest advisor and vice versa. He hadn't known of his monstrous heritage then, of his poisonous roots.

A poison that still choked him.

"Loki? Loki, are you alright?" The odd timbre of Sif's reached him through his thoughts and he didn't tear his eyes away from his hands as he answered.

"I am quite well, Lady Sif, I assure you." He seemed to be the only one to abide by titles, these days. Though it wasn't as if he expected people to address him as 'Prince Loki', given him being the Jotun, runt Prince, but a 'Lord' here and there wouldn't go amiss. Even Laufey was given his correct title - was Loki truly below that? It shouldn't be so surprising. He was, after all, rather useless.

"Loki," Sif pressed on ( _why did she care?_ ) "You are crying." Ah. That was why. Couldn't have the disgraced prince making such a scene at an event such as this - absolutely unacceptable. He took a hand to his face and felt the slight warm of tears upon his flushed skin. A weakness, as if he didn't have enough already.

"My apologies, Lady Sif. I appeared to have consumed more mead than I should have. Do excuse me, I would not wish to ruin your evening." Loki made to stand up, an aborted movement as his legs abruptly seemed unable to support him. He grasped at the table quickly, thanking the strong trees it had been hewn from, and steadied himself. 

"Please, Loki. I'll help you to your chambers."

++++++++++++++++++++++

"Once more, Lady Sif, I insist - I am fine, I merely drank my fill and above. I do not require your assistance." Loki tries hard not to think about the oddly clammy feel to his face, and how his hand is still shining from the tears he wiped there last. His emotions are, as ever, dreadfully unimportant and not worthy of any such observation as Sif appears to be giving him. It's not a far-off thought that she's also been indulging herself in mead - such is the rarity of her being nice to such an unpleasant, lying prince. Loki hopes to shake her off now and spare her any awkwardness come morning when she realises she aided such a beast as he.

"Loki," she hisses (it was comforting to hear such a familiar, scathing tone) "you were crying in there. Thor would have noticed, and you can barely stand straight - Loki, no." she grabs his arm as he attempts to twist away and pulls him into a small enclave designed for slaves to duck into when high royalty who do not wish to see their lowers walk by. The wall is fresh against his back and Loki sags against it gratefully, feeling his legs tremble with the strain of holding his weight up. He feels bad for his legs, his body - for this strain he has put them under with his horrifying belly, the fruits of his greed.

"What I'm saying is - I..." Sif casts around for words, her eyes falling to the floor and her hands, now free of Loki, moving up to where her hair falls down one shoulder. "It's not normal, crying... It's not like you to cry in such a place as that. What ails you, Loki?"

Loki almost wants to laugh.

 _What ails you._ As if she cannot see his pain, has not noticed the way all hate him, how he is not even allowed to have his own lover in fear of bearing a monster - how, without prompting to go out, he would remain inside for century after century, pouring over books and staring into nothing. _What ails you?_

But what does not?

Without his reply, Sif sighs and melts down to a position next to Loki, her iron boots pressed firmly to his legs to reassure her physical dominance even while the feminine side of her spills forth. Fandral would never ask Loki how he fared, would never care and Volstagg... he would be eating. Loki's stomach turns in it's fleshy cavern and Loki curls slightly around it, wishing the realisation of food could have been sworn off for a while longer under the influence of mead.

"I have seen how you look at Thor," states Loki, lip curling and eyes flashing with malice as he desperately reaches for something to take him away from his traitorous needs "It's pitiful, Lady Sif. A married man. What would your mother think?"

But what would Frigga think? Well. She's not his real mother, anyway. She's an empty shell of a failed emotional replacement. Loki hates her almost as much as he hates himself.

"I could say the same, Trickster." _Ouch_. Sif knows - well, why wouldn't she? They were always in competition, were they not, for Thor's attentions? Loki was forever on a winning streak, of course, but not in the ways of the warrior; Thor trusted Sif at his back more than he trusted Loki. But Loki was the god of lies, silvertongue, the disgraced prince - who would trust him at their back?

"You must be happy for him, silvertongue, he has Lady Jane now. They are a suited couple." there was something painfully familiar about the way Sif said that, the sneaking bitterness that crept through every vowel and consonant that made Loki throw his head back and laugh, neck bared and the rachet echoing back at him from the curved walls.

He heard Sif join him, her laugh light and flowing, and for a few, blissful moments it was all so _funny_ that they were in love with the golden prince, the treasure of Asgard. It didn't matter how much it hurt and the way the tears lay upon his cheeks and the looks Jane gave him every time she saw him - it just _didn't._ At all.

Sif lowered her head, grinning as she met Loki's eyes.

"What is this?"

Their heads snapped to the entrance, smiles fading as fast as they came.

++++++++++++++++++++++

_Fandral._

Sif quickly backs away from Loki, the brief warmth from her contact trickling out into the cold air. Loki's stomach twists.

"Sif? What is going on here?" Fandral steps forward and holds his hand gently to her arm "What trick has silvertongue played now?" what's _Loki_ done. Of course. He must have done something, must have used or spell or some kind of potion - must have harmed Sif to get her that close to him. Must have manipulated her to laugh with him.

There's a moment where Loki doubts himself, tries to think of something he might have done. Some trick he may have, unconsciously, played.

"Do not concern yourself, Fandral. All is at ease. I am accompanying Loki to his chambers, I fear he is unwell." Sif has _always_ been a bad liar, Loki would know, but this, this was transparent to even the most gullible of fools. Fearing for his health, helping him to his rooms - pray, what next? Befriending him? Learning magic for herself? 

Fandral scoffed.

"Really Sif, let the _prince,_ " He hisses out the word "Drown his sorrows, I'm sure it's more that overdue. I'm surprised he's not the palace drunk already - what more could he do to disgrace the crown at his point? Why, he's already whored himself out." _What more indeed._

Loki hung his head down, arms wrapped tight over his stomach. _Do not speak of my form_. It felt endlessly bitter to be talked down by Fandral, of all people, yet what Loki do? Verify Fandral's poisonous words? He was reluctant to use magic in his drunken state, lest a teleportation spell go ary and land him on enemy soil.

Though, perhaps death might be favourable?

Sif frowns at Fandral, a protective stance Loki recognises from quest after quest comes into form, light but ready. Loki cannot allow for more arguing on his behalf, can not let there be more venom with his him name.

"Lord Fandral is right, Lady Sif. I'm merely intoxicated- there is no need to concern yourself. Many have staggered back to their rooms unaccompanied, it is a feat even I can manage." Sif frown deepens as she turns to Loki, mouth parted as if to protest but she remains blessedly silent as Loki struggles to his feet, mouth pursed and mind willing Fandral not to make a comment about how hard it must be for someone of Loki's _stature_ to stand on their own. Though he'd certainly deserve it.

His head feels oddly cloudy and he reaches to the wall for support, feeling it's cold grip vividly while his vision remains compromised, at best. It's imperative he make it to his rooms without providing further ammo to the people who are so vehemently against him, and, in his weakened state, he is susceptible to violence. Loki will do what he can to avoid talk of his bulk, of his disgusting form. It is a weakness.

He is out from the enclave, stomach aching and legs weak, when Sif once more grabs to his wrist, pulling him momentarily close.

"Thor still cares for you Loki, he's just older now. You're his brother, Jane is his wife. Act like it." she releases his arm and he absentmindedly goes to touch the skin there, his Jotun coldness hurrying to snuff out the warmth.

Her breath smelt of mead.


	9. Chapter 9

This headache is worse than the usual, but Loki feels grateful for it nonetheless, as it distracts and drives the general aches and pains of living from his body. It's a testament to his will that he pulls himself from his bed at all, dizziness easily forthcoming and hair lankly falling over his eyes. The obscured view of the room is somewhat of a comfort, like a caged animal having a blanket thrown over it. There is a certain solace to be found in darkness. 

He mumbles a spell, quick and barely audible and the curtains of his room swing shut, blocking the god forbidden sun from shining through. A downside to having no more servants, though it's really something he should have thought of the night before. He was quite drunk, though - his head can protest to that. Teeth pressed together in anticipation of pain, he pushes himself up from his bed and instantly stumbles towards the bedside table, hands digging into the polished wood. The pain is striking, blinding, and reminiscent of the lightening that accompanies thunder. Loki had been hit by it a little too often.

His body feels unbelievably light, and his head all too heavy, and it's all he can do to grasp onto the stone walls to stop himself toppling over, relieving the weight imbalance. Wouldn't want the _runt prince of Asgard_ falling to the floor and hurting himself, would we? What a shame it would be to the whole royal family, to experience a loss such as that. Bitterly, Loki pulled at the curtain to his bathing chambers, the mocking tone in his head a high note to the already constant pain. 

The water is a hot relief, kept warm by a charm Loki himself cast years ago, and works wonders for his sore muscles as he sinks down into it. His legs especially hurt, and as he rubs oil on them, the sickening fat on them ripples under his touch, their softness giving way to the pressure of his fingers. It's fascinating, almost, and he pushes both his palms into his sides, flesh slipping in between his fingers and bulging over the sides of his hands, not unlike a former lover of Loki's. Though she had been beautiful, stunning, her weight no factor in her wonder, rather a blazing emblem of wealth, a secret flag to her dexterous mind. He had taken time to touch her skin, every party, and loved her as thoroughly as she had deserved.

Now, he is jealousy springs forth at her memory. How had she made ii so _alluring_? He had not given her weight a second thought, another glance, but he _feels_ people staring at him - the elephant in the room. He notes their glances and their smirks, hears the ends of jokes that could have only been about him, the way guards quiet as he comes near, how warriors turn the other way, laughter bursting out behind him. His mother mockingly invites him to breakfast, Thor to dinner, Jane besides him, smiling knowingly at his enlarged form. Last night, Sif couldn't have pulled him back on his feet if she wanted; she was a warrior, strong and powerful, but Loki doubts even she could carry a weight such as he. Not even Thor could. His sickness, his desire, could never be sated while a lover could not move him, while a lover would fear lying besides him lest he crush them. 

There was little need for Odin's ruling, in that respect. 

Anguished, he rubs at his eyes furiously, revelling in the spots of black that blot his seemingly large legs from his sight. _You are an idiot for not noticing the state of things sooner, _by the Norns he is. A bumbling fool, full of food and sharp words about _control_ and _precision_ while he is scarcely able to deny his appetite himself. He craves food even now, the full pain of his stomach lighting up under his thoughts, roaring alongside his hangover. Not for the first time, he wishes healing was flexible to the user, but he can't help but feel he quite deserves the pain. __

__Thor had always said he could not hold his mead._ _

__The water, still warm on his skin, no longer feels so welcoming._ _

++++++++++++++++++++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry about the delay in updating, it can be hard to write ED fics without relapsing.
> 
> I'm trying to get back on track with where I was with this piece, so bear with me over a couple of chapters while I re-establish where it's going aha, I know I have some plot in here somewhere.
> 
> Thank you if you've stuck with this!
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

Loki finds he cannot leave his room that day.

The pain in his stomach is reminiscent of the pain of childbirth, though nothing could quite compare to the events that brought children to him. The flashes of pain and fear that were the conception of Sleipnir, the confusion and naivety of Jormungand, the rejection and hatred that followed Hel's birth. What was that Midgardian saying? Stick and stones? Never a more false phrase, though something he was sure the Aesir would rejoice in. What were insults when you could break a mans leg?

Indeed.

He has always despised the laziness that drives one to spend a day or so in his own chambers, but he was quite sure that, after bathing, he had climbed back into his bed to rest his dizzying head, and was confused as to why he came to next just beside the window; his head throbbing irritably and knees feeling jarred. Shadows had already began to climb by then, and though he resented it greatly, Loki watched the day pass him by from the stone floor, building his strength to pull his bulbous form to the welcoming softness of cotton sheets. It was a comparable fragility to the unforgiving floor, though satin sheets and utter luxury are none too distant memories.

And here he was, upon his scratchy bed, eyes lidded and pain curling in his abdomen, a comforting thump running through his head at every blink. His depictions of old were most flattering, splayed out across sheets, a narcotic promise in his gaze, long, slight limbs - he remembers his worship on midgard well, the lusty haze and the tang of blood. the times have changed and those mortals did grow old and died, leaving in its a place a world where Loki would sooner be torched for his witchcraft than worshipped for his tricks. Loki himself has moved on with them, growing as if with child yet not being so, fat making it's home in his red flesh, worming it's way towards his heart.

He makes to correct that.

###### 

Mother does bless him with her presence the following day. He remains bed bound, waving off the caller boys who relay to him her messages of breakfast, of lunch, of dinner. The sun sets over the sky and it is all he can do to watch it - the pain dulling to sweet nothing in his sleepiness, though sleep itself deprives him. There is a bone deep ache, a wariness, about him that refuses to lift. He cannot say he minds, that he overtly notices, feeling as if his ever sharp mind and tipped across the cliff to a tedium. And so mother comes to him, a change, to say the least, and it is with bitterness he calls to have her enter.

The fallen prince upon his death bed, he sorely wishes.

"Loki! My dear son, I-" the great Queen of Asgard comes to a halt, her golden hair tragically dull in the fading light of Loki's chambers. Not even a true blood may shine here, Loki idly reflects, feeling too tired to drag himself into even a semblance of politeness in which to greet his mother.

"What has befallen you, my son?" she comes to his side, faux worry painted across her aging face, "Have you been poisoned? Should I call for a healer?" her hands touch upon his exposed arms, the small nail marks and sagging fat, "You have lost weight, Loki, how long have you been unwell?" the last mention stirs un uneasy, harsh laugh for his dried throat, a grating and halting feeling coming with the hacking like chuckle, blood lingering on his pale tongue.

"Not now, My Queen. Even one such as you must know not to kick a dead horse where it lays. I do not wish for these games, now. Leave me." he finally pulls his arm to his face, away from her grip, and lays it over his eyes, wishing for this bone deep ache to just stop. He, and others, he is sure, would not be adverse to his demise. It has come upon him suddenly, this desire, but he is beaten down. An exhausted night and an exhausted day, and Loki has come to realise he has no grit, no metal within him. Only soft fat fit for slaughter. Thor's adoration is not his to keep, and the delicate ties to his children are better off cut, where his influence can poison them no more. He is ghastly lonely in life.

"Games, my son? What games are these?" her hands are cool and dry, a strange combination, one Loki's remembers from Jormungand's delicate embrace, as they smooth across his forehead, handling his hand carefully from his face again. He feels her take his pulse, check his temperature, as is she isn't sickened to the core to even touch upon his traitorous skin, his revolting body.

"I do not wish to now, Mother. I beg of you to leave me, I am not in a fit state for visitors," the way 'my son' falls from her lips, a cry of mockery to his starved palette, is a twisting knife in his gut. He shall be assisted to his grave by harsh words, it seems. Though nothing could appear to be more justly fitting, if he thinks upon on. Frigga makes a strange noise under her breath, and as she stands to call to the guards, Loki strides to meet unconsciousness, meeting it's delicate, blackening tendrils with an enthusiasm he thought gone from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for spelling errors - I'm rushing off to bed as I type. Chapter should have been longer but I'm way too tired and have college tomorrow, so I'll pick back up soon! Excuse for long update time is the same as before.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


	11. Chapter 11

Horribly, grievously, he awakens.

There's a golden cloud above him, moving in and out of focus. In one moment it appears to be a golden sky, shimmering above, while in other moments of purer clarity it is a like to dust in a glancing ray of sunlight. It shapes itself to that of a malnourished form, detailing in macabre accuracy the curves and ravines of a gaping ribcages and a stair-like spine. Loki reaches for it, but finds his hands heavy at his side - his head, too, is filled to the brim with a weight that stops any movement before he can even think to perform it. An ache latches on as he attempts once more to draw a hand through the wonder above.

Darkness drags at his vision.

###### 

"Oh my son, my darling son," her voice drifts through the silence, delicate and wavering. Loki remembers days in his youth where he was forever at Frigga's side, rejected by those living in the palace and at odds with stronger opponents, thus dreadfully lonely and taken up by the company of his mother. In her presence, he found himself introduced to a place Frigga shared with few, a paradise so unseen and true to her than not even Odin, The Allfather, had trampled his war bloodied feet upon its grounds. Loki adored it. The leaves which budded above and below him in bright greens and blues, faded yellows and startlingly, unworldly purples. Flowers scattered upon dark bush and faint grass, swelling in untouched whites, pinks, reds and fiery oranges - so new, so different to the faded nordic pallet those of the palace wore.

Loki would pick them for their beauty and then, later, when he had learned that beauty was not all, he would pick them for their properties. Their use to him.

"Never mistake The Naked Lady for anything but herself," Frigga told him, cradling the petal of the flower like a lover's cheek, "For she will stop your heart in a day, and sap your strength from you in less," The flower opens wider at her touch, beckoning like a gaping maw.

"Many men have died for their foolishness."

It, Loki finds, is beautiful.

The pain is hollowly familiar.

His sight feels strangely muffled, as he is seeing life being painted, and images do not quite match up with his expectation. He longs for his daughter, her cavernous face immortalised as she rules Hel, but instead he sees gold. Oh, how he is sick of gold.

"Mother! I believe he is awakening!" Loki would wince, if it were not for the cotton-like haze in his head that entices a dull ache he fears movement will forcibly evolve into spiking pain. He registers a warmness on a hand he still cannot raise, and can only stare dully at Thor's blistering beautiful eyes, which sparkle in an emotion Loki does not have the energy to decipher. His brother is as beautiful at his bed side as he is in the battlefield, in the court, in his lady's arms... oh, norns. How does he look? His fat spread wide on a bed, in too much pain to pull his stomach in, to cast a pleasing illusion. 

Loki would have had himself die in a form that was not so ghastly monstrous, but if death came faster he would not wave her away. He is a Jotun, in the end, and there is no flattering way in which to depart. Death is Jotun-cold.

The Queens flowing dress ebbs into his vision like a great wave, rushing down upon him in a flush of white. She takes his other hand and feels along his hand, pushing down upon fat gathered at the wrist. He would move away if he could, but instead he merely glances at his brothers face, feeling a strange disconnect to the tears that now lie there.

"Oh, Loki," His voice is so, so soft. So unlike Thor that it could be easy to believe this a dream, this care...

He fades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's some typos but I'm on my phone and scared to accidentally mess the format up. Will change tomorrow ^^


	12. Chapter 12

Odin doesn't visit.

Loki remains unsurprised.

Some things never change, it seems. But this care - this _farce_ the queen drags him through is tauntingly different to any exchange that had occurred previously. She plays worried mother, doting and attentive; sitting at his bedside for hours, talking to him of happenings in the court and even daring to shed a few malicious tears when Loki refuses to eat the food brought to him in her presence. He refuses to lose this game - refuses to show a sign of his writhing gluttony at the mere sight of food. Norns, is he hungry - his stomach twists painfully where it lies, hollow - but the Queen _cannot_ win this. Not this time. 

He will ensure his death, once and for all.

Sitting alone in his bed among the healers ward, he attempts to stifle out the insufferable emptiness. Not only of his stomach, but of his mind. There is a gaping abyss in his head, black and ragged, ringed with the frost he so hates, and it pulls heavily on his heart, making it a physical ache. He feels all trains of thoughts slipping down and down this abyss, trailing off into the what ifs of misery, and, more painfully, the what ifs of hope. Loki's lip curls to even suggest it, but he feels its faint flickering swirling within him - it is gold, like all things false. 

_What if this is not a game?_

_What if the queen does care?_

_What if she still believes you, this monster, are her son?_

Hope is a crueler mistress than any Loki has known.

But even the Queen in all her flowing robes of faux mourning cannot compare to the fallacy Thor creates with every earnest visit. He comes, always with food in his large hands, and sits on the edge of Loki's bed like he would when they were mere children. He would take Loki's hand, his grotesque hands, and cradles them as if he had never seen the blue creep to maturity upon them. The sunny prince will bother Loki of tales of their travels, of Loki's quiet, helping hand in each and every situation, and will laugh even if Loki cannot summon a smile. Loki is sickened by every second, by his own incestuos horror or by his own abundant greed as he picks at the food Thor carefully procures with a story for every dish - from the realm it hails from, an adventure when they hold memories or of his own adventure in finding the food. Some of it is rare to Asgard, and Thor proudly tells of his travel to bring back such a delicacy; violent and blunt, as he himself is, and then ladens Loki with the wish that, when he is better, they could embark once more to discover the treasures of the realms. 

Loki has never been able to refuse Thor anything.

So he picks and picks and feels sick to his stomach moments after Thor's departure. He senses fruit heavy in his abdomen when the Queen seats herself in a wooden chair, weaving her endless prophecies. It tastes like potent failure - and it is. Loki is weak while he cannot resist Thor, and it takes such a dizzying effort to dare wipe that smile from the idiots face he could not bear it at full strength, let alone this pathetic mess. He feels as if he is trapped, as if he cannot escape with Thor's loving smile at every corner and the Queen's close watch on every door; he so dreadfully wants to be gone. Wants to leave this enlarged form and all its gluttonous needs.

He craves his own ascension; or descension, as it may.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are close to the end my friends. whatever that may be


End file.
